It's not true that in high school I was voted Most Likely To Contract Multiple Sclerosis. The other day, however, I came down with a sudden inexplicable headache after watching television for nine consecutive hours, and not only that but the strawberry Pop Tart I'd been looking forward to eating suddenly struck me as revolting, if you can believe that, and I managed to whisper "Marburg" before dropping it on the floor and collapsing. Actually I didn't collapse so much as sit down. I'm not in a high enough tax bracket to collapse. Only wealthy celebrities collapse. It takes a certain level of renown to authentically collapse, and the proper settings for a dramatic collapse are likewise available only to the elite. You can collapse at a gala benefit, for example, or at a swank opening night before popping flashbulbs, but if you do the same thing in sweat pants at Dairy Queen it's called something else, something possibly unflattering. Same with "going into seclusion." When a movie star's troubled son is found dead on the sidewalk the movie star is said to be overcome with grief and "in seclusion." Invasive cameras catch a glimpse of curtains momentarily parted, a dark figure peeking out, but it's probably an intimate of the movie star, a factotum perhaps, or an assistant with nice photographable hands employed specifically to peek through curtains to assess the current level of morbid but reassuring fascination with the movie star's tragedy. For the rest of you, please note that it's not considered going into seclusion if no one is looking for you.